Where to Begin
by MakeTheStarsFall
Summary: Sequel to 'Under the Stars'. With dealing with Fred's death, feuding with Angelina's father, reopening the store, falling in love with Angelina, and trying to get himself OUT of trouble for once, George certainly has his hands full.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's the sequel everyone is so excited for! I know I am :) Due to some recent reviews on Under the Stars, I'm going to try very hard to characterize George better, because I do think I fell short to the standards in some parts. Not all, but certainly some.**

**This chapter is actually sort of a background, a bit of a prologue so to speak, because the chapter I started writing is actually going to be the second chapter, due to the fact it moved too quickly for an introductory chapter. If that confused you, just ignore it. It's not that important anyways. **

**Thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think! Enjoy :)  
**

* * *

It really is amazing how much one person can make a difference in your life. Especially when you lose someone else, say, your brother, your twin. Right when you think everything is over, someone else shows up to show you it's not, that everything has really just begun. That's sort of what happened with Angelina and I.

I was just moping around in my room for nearly a month after Fred got killed, completely depressed and not willing to speak to anyone. Angelina, being my best friend, shows up at my door and drags me out into the real world, taking me on what we now call our little adventure. We flew to the middle of some random forest on our broomsticks, slow-danced, pushed each other into an ice-cold lake, and kissed by a roaring fountain in Hogsmeade. Easily the best day of my life so far. She got me back to myself, if that makes any sense at all. That day made me realize who I still had left.

At the end of the day-- well, actually it was close to eleven o'clock at night-- we ended up standing on my front porch holding hands. It was difficult for me to put together a better scenario where Angelina was concerned.

"I had a really good time today," I remembered saying. I thought later what a stupid line that was, so generic when everything we were wasn't. Before she could say anything, I continued talking when I probably should have just shut up and kissed her.

"You sort of saved me, I guess. I was completely stuck on the past, but I'm not going to say I'm over Fred's death or anything. I will never be over that." _Shut up, shut UP,_ I was thinking. She nodded. "But why did you do it?" She gave my hands a squeeze.

"Weasley, if I didn't get in there and drag you out of your comfort zone you never would have left, and turned into a little old man with a bent back pouting in his bedroom with no friends left at all," she said with a very matter of fact look. That was the point when I knew that being more than friends wasn't going to change anything. Here she was, her old self, calling me by my last name in rather violent terms like she usually did. That's the way she was though, and I loved it. It meshed well with the way _I _was.

"Well, then, I think I should thank you for your trouble." At that point I leaned down and kissed her goodnight, just a short meeting of our lips.

"Goodnight," she mouthed, no sound coming out when I pulled away. Then, with the mischievous smile she usually wore, Angelina let go of my hands and spun on her heel to Apparate home.

I walked in the door and was bombarded with questions and queer looks.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be back for a long time?" Ron asked me, scratching his head, wearing his blue and white striped pajamas, the ones I vividly remembered Fred and I getting him stuck in a tree while wearing. I shrugged.

"That girl's got a mind of her own. I go by her rules." I winked, in a particularly good mood. Somehow, when I was answering Ron, every other member of my crowded household came to greet me. Strange, how people only pay attention to you when they've realized you're gone.

"Where did you go?" Mum asked me, sounding concerned. I had begun to answer her question, only to be interrupted by Ginny. Harry was standing next to her, and I shuddered inside my head; while I liked Harry and all, the thought of _any _bloke dating and snogging my little sister made me want to knock out his teeth, Chosen One or not. I would rather it be Harry than any other boy, though, I had to admit.

"Weren't you with Angelina? Did you two finally realize that you were made for each other?" Ginny smirked at me, and I do believe my mouth fell open just a bit. Had everyone else really thought we'd get together?

"Ginny," Harry mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, sounding a bit exasperated. He was a lot like me in the fact that we both liked to keep our relationships private, no matter how much the outside world saw. So I assumed he was trying to sympathize me on the point that my happenings of the day were going to be exposed in a way I hadn't planned. Well, I take that back. I didn't have much planned to begin with. To tell you the truth, I wasn't planning on getting this far anyway, at least with Angelina.

"Angelina Johnson?" Dad said, sounding surprised, and I sighed, trying to think of something to satisfy everyone's curiosity without overexposing myself or Angelina. I really did want to keep most of it to myself, but I was tempted to tell Harry about it later. He'd probably understand, I don't know, he and I have just had this strange bond ever since the Last Battle. It certainly had to do with Fred's death, and maybe it was connected to Harry being the reason we had to fight it in the first place. I wasn't mad at him though, not at all. It was more like he really, officially felt like my brother after going through all of that with us.

"Yes," I said simply. Everyone wore a perplexed look.

"Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go to sleep without over-analyzing everything because I had a very good day." I pushed through everyone and walked upstairs to my room, where I sat on my bed silently, hoping being here wouldn't bring back bad memories of the past three and a half weeks. Maybe if I didn't try to rush being here again, that wouldn't happen. I started by kicking my shoes off.

I heard a knock on my open door and looked up. It was Harry.

"Oh, hi. Come on in," I said, motioning with my arm to walk in. He took a seat in my desk chair, closing the door behind him.

"Did you want to talk about what happened today? You seemed in a really good mood when you came home." Harry was wearing pajamas similar to Ron's, only they had a blue and yellow plaid pattern.

"You know, Harry, you would be the one person I _would _want to talk about today's events with." Saying that felt like a breath of relief. At the same time, I wanted to tell no one, but I wanted to tell someone to get everything off my chest. Some bits, of course, I wanted to keep for myself. Some things were meant to keep private.

"Well, where did you go? You were gone nearly all day." I stood up and walked over to my closet, where I pulled out an old t-shirt and changed out of the one I was wearing and into the one out of my closet. I'd change my pants later, I suppose.

"We flew to the middle of some forest and hung out in a clearing for awhile, as weird as that sounds. Even weirder, now that I think about it, we slow-danced to no music and somehow both ended up in a lake with all our clothes on." I smiled distantly at the memory, and Harry laughed. Most blokes would have sighed and talked about how disappointing it was that we both still had our clothing on, but not Harry. That was another thing he and I had in common; we were sort of sensitive about love and such. I think he realized that it was more than just snogging and shagging, that love was more about how much you cared about someone.

"Then we went to Hogsmeade and got something to eat and..." I finished the sentence inside my head, but somehow the words didn't come out. Harry looked at me.

"And?"

"She told me how she felt about me, and then got all mad at herself and refused to listen to anything I had to say."

"Sounds like Angelina," Harry said.

"And I kissed her." I realized then how simple those words sounded, like they should have summed up what happened, but it didn't. 'Kiss' does not describe the fiery passion of everything we've ever wanted to say to each other, that I experienced earlier. But I didn't tell Harry that; I'd keep that bit in my memory for myself.

"So are you two an, er, item, now?" Harry asked me, sounding a little awkward. I shrugged.

"Harry, I don't seem to know much anymore, considering everyone thinks that Angelina's liked me for years, and I'm just now realizing it. But yeah, I suppose we're together." Together. That sounded nice. Together, me and her, and no one else to mess anything up. Me and Angelina. George and Angelina.

"Alright, well I'm glad you had a good day. I think that's what you needed." Harry left the room, but one thing puzzled me. Did he think I needed a good day, or did he think I needed Angelina?

I unbuttoned my old jeans and dug through a pile of clothes on the floor to find some cotton pajama pants. With a flick of my wand, I closed the curtains. My room was not much darker than before. I blew out the candle on my bedside table and peeled my quilt back, climbing under the covers. I pulled them up to my chin and allowed my eyelids to flutter shut and my mind to go blank; I fell asleep.

**

* * *

I know this is a little short, but it is the chapter bridging "Under the Stars" and this one and I promise the next chapter will be long with a lot more substance! If you stick with me for the next chapter, I promise it will be worth it :) But, please let me know what you think of this :) Love, Miranda**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter! Awesome response! Thanks, guys!**

**If you have any ideas, please let me know via review :) or you could even PM me! After you review, of course :) Thanks! Love, Miranda**

**

* * *

**"Damn doxies!" Angelina screamed and threw up her hands as a doxie flew full-force at her, emerging from the curtains on the north window of my flat. Aiming my bottle of doxie spray at it, I pulled the trigger and it fell to the ground, frozen. We were trying to fix up the last corner of my apartment, which had laid dormant for about a month after the Last Battle, so of course nearly every sort of magical creature had managed to live, poo, and die in it, making the hugest possible mess. This last bit was just curtains, a bookshelf, and a new rocking chair that Angelina had given me to read in, which had become one of my new favorite activities, surprisingly. The curtains had a huge doxie nest in them, and I think I just squirted the last one. Angelina tossed it into a garbage bag.

"Thanks," Angelina said and I shot her a grin. Everything had been going to much smoother, and both of us seemed so much happier since that first kiss four months ago. I still hadn't been to meet her parents, but Angelina was over at the Burrow quite a lot. She didn't seem in a hurry for me to meet them, but then again we were trying to take things slow, which was proving to be a bit hard. Everyone at my house but me seemed to know that she and I would get together eventually; they were alright about it though, not very smug.

She and I used a series of cleaning spells to wipe all of the dung, dust, and dirt off of my small collection of books. Angelina squealed again in surprise as another doxie flew out from behind a book. Her arms fell to her side, her wand gripped in her right hand, and turned to look at me.

"George, we've been at this for four hours. I'm done." She sighed and kicked the garbage bag out of her way to be dealt with later and looked at me.

There it was. The look. Now, this probably isn't the look that you're thinking of; this is not an I-want-to-kiss-you-now look, no. This look, Angelina's look, which I'd become very familiar with in the past ten years, was more of a remind-me-why-I'm-here look. I've been getting that look a lot lately; ever since she started helping me clean out my infested flat a little more than two and a half months ago.

"Well, then it's a good thing we're finished. This corner was the last bit to be cleaned up."

"No, it's not," she said irritably. "You've got a linen closet down your bedroom hallway that something died in." Something about her face looked tired, and I'm sure she was. She almost looked annoyed, too, and a little sad. Maybe she was just being particularly grumpy today.

"Well, we're almost done then. But it can wait, because who really uses linen closets?" I looked at her hopefully, and sure enough, I had earned myself a little smile. "Can I make you a cup of tea?" I stretched my arm out and took one of her hands, the other which was crossed across her stomach.

"Yeah," she said softly, and smiled again. I returned it, and gave her hand a squeeze before taking off to my tiny corner of a kitchen. I heard Angelina settle into the couch as I pulled out a tea kettle to heat up some water, which I know I could have done by magic, but, well, I dunno, lately I've been wanting to make everything last longer, take longer. I suspect it could be related to Fred's early death. I want to appreciate things; Angelina made me realize that.

I rustled around in the pantry and emerged with a tea bag in my hand, and poured a cup of hot water into a china teacup when the kettle whistled. The tea bag slipped out of the palm of my hand and into the hot water. It began to swirl around and dye the water brown instantly.

Angelina was curled up on one end of the striped couch with her eyes closed, but looked up and shifted into a cross-legged position when I sat down on the cushion next to her and handed her the teacup.

"Thank you," she said quietly, cautiously sipping the tea. I tucked a leg under myself and turned so I could look at her.

"Thank _you,_" I said, "for helping me. God knows I wouldn't have been able to do this without you." She smiled and continued drinking her tea, seeming to brighten with each sip.

"Hey, are you alright? You seem a little tired today." I slid my hand off my lap and onto her knee and rubbed my thumb back and forth. Angelina took her cup in both hands and set it in her lap.

"I was up really late last night," she said quickly, as if she had been waiting for me to ask. "Arguing with my parents." I didn't like where this was going, but I wasn't going to change the subject. I'd see if whether or not she wanted to talk about it. She took another sip of tea.

"It's fine, though, really," she said quietly before I could ask anything. I'd take that as a maybe-I'll-tell-you-later. It didn't seem important as of right now. She set her teacup on the coffee table.

Angelina sighed over-dramatically and stood up. I joined her.

"Well, I suppose we might as well finish up by cleaning out that linen closet. Come on." She pivoted on her heel to walk down the hall to my filthy linen closet, but my hand caught hers in the process. Turning around, she looked up at me with a smirk; she knew what was coming next.

"The closet can wait. Whatever died in there isn't going to get any deader." My voice dropped as my head did, and by the end of the sentence my lips were on hers.

This was probably one of the reasons it had taken us more than two and a half months to clean out my flat; I think we both found it very hard to concentrate on such petty things like cleaning we were right there, tempting each other. A great amount of snogging had happened in the past several hours alone. Now, don't go and think that our relationship is purely physical; it's certainly not, and I would be the first to tell anyone that. We had been through so much together, it was just natural. All of it, everything. Like it was meant to be.

Angelina pulled away and grinned up at me.

"Come on, George, one little closet and then we can kiss all day. Let's go." She laughed and took off running down the hall, daring me to follow her. I watched as she tripped over the garbage bag full of doxies and collapsed on the ground in a fit of laughter. My eyebrows shot up and I made my way to her quickly, in seconds. Angelina sat up as I crouched next to her, still laughing.

"Are you alright?" I asked her, not able to hold back a chuckle of my own. She took my hand and I pulled her to her feet, where she peered at me with a silly smile.

"I need to be around you more," she said, "because you put me in such a good mood." She snaked her arms around my waist and buried her face in my chest. Laughing, I pressed my lips to the top of her head.

"One closet! That's it!" I said. I let her go, and she walked away from me, down the hall. I followed, and stood outside the door, waiting for her to open it. She looked at me.

"Well, go ahead. It's _your_ closet." The look on her face was just daring me to open the door. Fine, I'll admit it; I was a bit afraid of what I might find in there. A little sound similar to a whine sounded in the back of my throat as I looked at her, pleading. Angelina smirked. She was really going to make me open this door.

"_Fine_," I sighed dramatically, and grabbed the handle to the closet. I shot her one last glance, just to make sure she really wanted me to open it. She, unfortunately, nodded, encouraging me.

I turned the handle.

The door opened, but all that was in there was a small pile of towels and a few dress robes hung up. Definitely nothing dead.

Angelina burst out into peals of laughter, and I looked at her, puzzled, trying to understand.

"Got you!" She said through the giggles. I smiled, finally getting it; nothing was dead in there to begin with. Or, maybe, Angelina had cleaned it out earlier when I was paying attention or something. Either way, she had certainly fooled me. This was one of those moments where I was proud to have such a fantastic prankster as a best friend, and even better, a girlfriend, maybe even wife someday.

She was still laughing; I finally just gave up and joined her. I reached out and took her by the waist, still chuckling, and pulled her towards me. Before I could, Angelina took my face in both of her hands and kissed me.

This was why our relationship was so brilliant: we could still play pranks on each other like best friends, and then go snog later. _Damn_, I thought, when she slid her tongue across my bottom lip, teasing me.

But, alas, after that she pulled away, and to top it all of she was still grinning because of the linen closet prank.

"You got me, I'll admit it. I was scared," I said, before she could say anything smug.

"Weasley, if I didn't know you wouldn't be scared I wouldn't have done it. I know what your save-me-mummy!-look is," Angelina told me smartly. I should have known; shes certainly right when she says she knows me all too well. But then again, sometimes I know her too well, like now.

I inhaled, and let the breath catch in my throat. My eyes popped, widening, and shut as my hands flew to my throat. My knees buckled and I let myself collapse onto the floor. Angelina reacted exactly like I thought she would.

"Oh my God! George!" She was instantly crouching by my side, brushing my hair off my forehead and then opening my mouth gently with her hands. They were shaking. I was starting to feel like I had made the wrong choice with this prank, going a bit too far. Angelina pressed her ear to my chest. "Oh my God," she whispered again. One of her trembling hands took mine and squeezed it, very tightly. I gripped it, faintly, back.

Then, I could sense her face hovering above mine. I fluttered my eyes open and smiled at her.

"Gotcha."

I knew I'd gone too far when her hand came in contact with my face, slapping me as hard as she ever had.

**

* * *

Let me know what you think, please! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey:) I love writing this story, so much! And it makes me smile so big when people review :) So let me know what you think, guys! Love, Miranda**

**

* * *

**We were both on our feet now, the side of my face stinging where she had slapped me. This whole prank was definitely a mistake; she was truly angry at me. Her little fists were clenched at her sides and those big, beautiful brown eyes were gleaming with the tears that were streaming down her face. I was standing there, in front of her, like a very useless person. I had never felt so stupid and selfish before in my life. Angelina wiped off her face with her sleeve.

"Dammit, George! Don't do that to me!" Her screaming at me honestly made me want to go jump off a cliff.

"I'm s--"

"Don't you even say you're sorry, Weasley, because you're not." She looked so hurt right now, like she wanted to cry and break my nose all at the same time. I wish she would. I wish she would break my nose, because I deserved it. I looked down, ashamed of myself for making Angelina so upset.

"The worst part is, I know exactly why you did it too. You wanted to get back at me for the closet prank. I get it, I really do," she laughed shakily, "but God, don't ever do that to me again." She added quietly and then took a step towards me, wrapping her arms slowly around my waist. I lifted my head, instantly knowing that I had been forgiven. At least, for the time being. My arms held her close to me. I bent down so I could whisper in her ear.

"I really am sorry, you know." Angelina stifled a laugh. "I didn't know how upset that would make you," I continued. I could feel her heart beat against my chest; it was steadily slowing to a normal pace, after getting so high.

With my hands on her waist, I stepped back and looked at her, her chin rising to look at me. She smiled.

"Here, I'll make it up to you."

"I don't need another cup of tea, George." She raised an eyebrow at me matter-of-factly. I pressed a finger to her lips, shushing her.

"Come on, we'll go for a nice long walk around Diagon Alley. Girls like long romantic walks, don't they?" Her mouth curved into a sweet little half smile, and then she began to laugh. See what happens when I try to be all nice and romantic?

"A lot of girls do, George, yes." Oh great, now she was going to go and point out how she wasn't like other girls, and how I should know that by now, and how she hates to go on walks and hates romantic things and would rather go play Quidditch with me or something and how dammit George, I should know that. The Angelina Johnson in my head lecturing me was strangely realistic.

"And I do, too, sometimes. But today..." she trailed off, and I was internally cursing myself for bringing that up and also making a mental note to take her on a long walk sometime in the near future.

"Today?" I said.

"Let's go downstairs to the store," she said suddenly, sounding bold. Why on earth would she want to go down to the store? Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had a long way to go, and it would nearly be my flat all over again, only with more boxes and hopefully less dead things, although you never knew. It may be right below my flat, but I hadn't spent any time in there at all, so I really didn't have any idea of what might be lurking there.

"Wh--" I began, but Angelina just grabbed my hand and started dragging me towards the door. Halfway there, somehow I managed to spin in front of her, lock my arms around her, and spin us around, Apparating under the front awning of the store.

Wordlessly, Angelina looked up at me with an understanding smirk, because she knew my impatience for things, even if it was just walking down a flight of stairs.

Waving her wand, Angelina began to rearrange unopened merchandise boxes into neater piles up against the walls. The store, overall, was not as bad as I had expected, but it was not much better than my apartment. We certainly had our work cut out for us.

"_Tergeo_," I murmured, pointing my wand at an island of shelves. They were wiped clean of of dust and droppings, so I suppose that was a decent start. My arm relaxed and I looked at Angelina, who was magically scrubbing the windows and mopping the floor at the same time.

"Why are we down here again? Didn't you say you were done with cleaning?" She turned around, though the sponge and mop continued cleaning, and shot me an evil little smile. Oh no, what was she up to now?

"Well, now you have to make things up to me _triple _later." She winked, and my heart skipped a beat, but I managed a slightly nervous smile.

"Triple? I thought I only owed you one making-up?"

"At_ least_ one for helping cleaning your flat, one for scaring the living hell out of me," she glared in my direction and finished, "and one for this. That makes three."

"But I'm not making you help me with this! It was all your idea! _I_ was the one that was going to take you on a walk! I was being romantic!" I pleaded pathetically, but she just laughed at me. I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"Come on, George," she said, quieter, taking a few steps closer to me, "when have you ever not liked making something up to me?"

"Well," I began, quick with a comeback, "there was that one time in our fifth year where, after Fred accidentally tripped you down the stairs--"

"That was you." She retorted.

"Was not. Anyway--"

"Was too."

"Was not. You made me do all of your homework for a week."

"Yeah, and I'll never do that again, will I." Angelina smiled.

"Well, you won't, because we're not in school anymore." My mouth curved into a half smile. "I got you there."

Angelina leaned upward and planted a lingering kiss on my lips, and then, in one fluid motion, fell to the ground gracefully and criss-crossed her legs, looking up at me. See, if I tried to do that I would end up falling over, but she managed it very smoothly.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to do this anymore." Slowly and carefully, I joined her on the dusty floor.

"Does that mean I only owe you two making-ups?" I asked her. Angelina nodded affirmatively.

"Do you just want to call it a day, then?" I could have sworn a saw a look of panic cross her face, but I must have been mistaken because when I looked back at her, Angelina was shaking her head. She stood up.

"I don't really want to go home. Could I maybe stay with you for awhile? Things at home aren't..." She trailed off a bit hesitantly, but I nodded.

"You can stay as long as you like, so long as you don't sleep on the couch." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, a classic Weasley Twin trait, but she laughed. Then, when she realized what I meant, she glowered at me. "Sorry," I mouthed. She rolled her eyes.

"Alright then. I _am_ hungry," Angelina said, standing up, quickly changing the subject.

I didn't mean it, what I said. At least, I don't think I meant it. Well, let's put it this way. This was not the way I wanted to bring up sleeping together. Hell, if I had a choice, I wouldn't bring it up at all. Some things are meant to just happen. I didn't want her to feel like certain things are expected of her now, because they're really not. I've been after her for so long that just kissing her or holding her hand makes it hard for me to sit still.

"Mum did say something about a steak and kidney pie tonight," I suggested.

"That sounds lovely."

* * *

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hermione smack Ron's hand off the inside of her thigh, but she did so silently, smiling at Mum and complimenting her on dinner the whole time. Ron, on the other hand, winced and withdrew his hand, placing it back on his own lap and shoveling a bite of steak and kidney pie into his mouth. Angelina looked at me, raising an eyebrow, indicating that she'd seen it. Unfortunately, I think she was trying to tell me not to go getting any ideas.

Mum and Dad were making strained small talk with Angelina, and she was responding as properly as a girlfriend could; smiling and cheerful, everything that would make Mum and Dad happy to have her over. It's not as if they haven't met, though. Their meetings were just rather rare, so they really didn't know each other very well.

"It's a shame, really, that George doesn't bring you around more often," Mum said, clearing her throat and glaring at me.

"What? We've been busy," I retorted. Ron choked on a bit of food, laughing; he had taken what I said the wrong way.

"Cleaning my flat. We finished today, thank you very much, Ronald," I said. Ron rolled his eyes; I doubt he believed me. He knew as well as I did why it took several months to clean out my flat.

Dinner didn't take long to finish after that, and Angelina embraced my mother, insisting that we really had to go, and that dinner was just lovely.

"We don't have to go just yet, do we?" I asked her. I hadn't had a chance to talk to Harry or Ginny much, or anyone else for that matter, save Mum. I hadn't been over here in about three or four days; it had been awhile.

Angelina looked a bit surprised.

"Well, I suppose we don't have to, if you want to stay." I nodded and Angelina went off to find Hermione or someone to talk to. Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't have faith that she would find someone to talk to. We probably wouldn't stay more than another hour anyway.

Ginny was off yelling at Ron for something or another, so I turned to Harry, who was looking at the two of them with amusement.

"You're taking good care of her, right mate?" I asked him, and Harry's face grew a little red, but he nodded. Every time I saw him with Ginny I felt better about the two of them; like I said before, even if it_ is_ Harry, being her older brother I don't so much like the idea of Ginny with a boyfriend.

"And you and Angelina? How's that?" Harry asked politely. I looked over both of my shoulders, and, seeing no one, my voice dropped.

"Can you keep a secret?" I said quietly. Harry grinned and nodded.

"Well, Angelina's sort of moving in tonight. She says things aren't so great at home, so she's going to be staying with me for awhile." Harry's eyebrows raised. "Don't tell Mum or Dad," I continued, "they'd kill me. Although, I don't think they'll have a reason to. I'm pretty sure Angelina and I won't be sleeping together." He nodded approvingly. I could tell he was tempted to say some things about he and Ginny, but thought that if he said anything to do with what they did physically that I'd probably end up hurting him. Accidentally, of course. And he was correct.

Ginny and Ron had stopped yelling at each other, so I talked to her for a bit. I didn't tell her about Angelina staying with me, though.

After about a half hour, Angelina came to me, her eyelids drooping a little; she was tired. And I didn't blame her; it was getting late.

"Hey, let's go," she whispered in my ear. We bid good-bye to everyone and then we Apparated back to my flat.

**

* * *

Sorry it took so long! I got a bit distracted with finals and such :) Let me know what you think of this, please! -Miranda**


	4. Chapter 4

**I got really confused for awhile, because in my email I wasn't getting any reviews :( But then I checked on here and I had a ton! Thanks a lot guys! :D Love, Miranda**

**This story is sort of inspired by the Bowling for Soup song, "Where to Begin" and I hope they don't mind I kind of stole their title. Look up the song, though :) It's great. But if you don't want to do that, then at least look up the lyrics. :) **

* * *

I woke up the next morning with Angelina curled up next to me, with my arms around her. Our legs were pressed together, and her bare toes were brushing the top of my foot. Her hands were on the back of my neck; it probably looked like we fell asleep in a hug. I tried to sit up but Angelina sort of held me down, so I just repositioned myself, sitting up against the headboard. Angelina's arms remained latched around my neck, so I tired to rearrange her in my lap, but it didn't really work because she's not that much smaller than me. Finally, I just gave up and laid back down in my original position on the bed. Miraculously, Angelina stayed asleep.

Squinting my eyes due to the sunshine pouring in through the window, I looked around my bed; we were back under the covers and it appeared that all of our clothes were still on. Content, I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.

_The store, my store, was open, and it was filled with hundreds of people. People were pouring in and out, buying everything in sight. Angelina was next to me, as we surveyed everything around us; our success. We had done this together. My eyes caught sight of a ring on her left hand; we had gotten married._

_Wow._

_Just then, Angelina and I were in a house, one that I didn't recognize. A weathered but kind-looking black woman widened her eyes at me, as if she was trying to tell me a message; it looked sort of like, "Get out!" But certainly in a protective way._

_"Get away from my daughter!" shouted a very large, tall man with Angelina's eyes who had suddenly appeared. He repeated himself several times before I realized that he was yelling at me. I cocked my head at him, not speaking, confused._

_"Daddy--" Angelina began, but he cut her off and grabbed my shoulder._

_"I told you to stay away from those damn wizard boys! He thinks he can just marry you without my permission?" Angelina opened her mouth to defend herself, and maybe me, but when I looked back at her father he had transformed into a huge bear, larger than life-sized. I had not seen many bears in my life, but I knew for sure that this particular one was very large. The bear was covered in a tawny brown fur with white markings around its eyes, and it was roaring quite loudly. I looked to who I presumed was Angelina's mother, but she had disappeared._

_Angelina, standing next to me, had shrunk until she was about to my knee and had her eyes squeezed shut with her hands pressed over her ears like a small child. Out of instinct, I reached down to pick her up and comfort her, but the bear struck me across the face and I fell to the ground._

"George? Come on, wake up." I opened my eyes slowly, blinking a few times and saw Angelina's face just a few inches from mine. I managed a tired smile, although I was slightly disturbed by my dream. _Is this why Angelina didn't want me to meet her parents? _I thought. _Did her father really dislike me that much? No, it couldn't be. He hadn't even met me. Besides, it was just a dream._

Angelina responded to my smile by pressing her lips to mine in a short kiss. When she pulled away, her nose crinkled.

"You have awful morning breath," she said teasingly with a wry grin. I sat up.

"You know you like it, darling," I said cockily, channeling my inner Fred. He used to talk to girls like that all the time, so I figured it was worth a try. Angelina didn't buy it, though; she rolled her eyes and pulled the covers off of me.

"Don't be such a Fred." Sometimes I swear that girl could read my mind. She could certainly see through me at any point in time and figure out what I was hiding. I smirked at her and got up without saying a word, dashing to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth furiously and returned to find Angelina in the kitchen with some toast and a cup of tea waiting for me. She sipped her own cup.

I took the cup out of her hand, but she didn't resist or question what I was doing. I set it on the counter.

Taking her face in both of my hands, I lowered my lips to hers very gently. Angelina let me back her into the wall and press her up against it with my body. As the kiss deepened, her fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. Moments later, her hands were massaging the bare skin under my shirt. Not wanting to get too carried away with things, I willed myself to keep my hands on her neck. It proved difficult, though. Just the touch of her fingers on my skin made the pit of my stomach burn.

But it was when her tongue tickled the roof of my mouth that I let go of myself, just a little. My hands trailed down her neck, squeezing her shoulders, and then I let one of my fingers trace the underside of her breast; a moan escaped in the back of her throat.

Angelina pulled away and placed a hand on my chest. I couldn't help but stare at her kiss-swollen lips. I wondered silently if mine were swollen similarly.

"That's much better than the morning breath, but I'd have to say I think you taste better a few hours after the toothpaste taste has faded away," Angelina said, pushing me away gently and walking back over to her cup of tea. I laughed; I had expected something else, although what I'm not sure. Maybe that she would scold me for going so far as I did, but no, she remarked that my breath had improved. I had to admit that that was a bit more like the Angelina I knew; baffling me with her every word.

We spent the rest of the morning attempting to clean up the shop, and it turns out it wasn't that hard. We had almost finished by early afternoon because as an incentive to re-open the shop, Angelina had refused to kiss me until we were done cleaning up. I sighed out loud at the thought of me leaning in to kiss her in the midst of cleaning, and her skipping away with an evil little grin. "Not 'til we're done. We are never going to accomplish anything around here if we don't stop snogging for ten minutes." I had tried to kiss her again precisely eleven minutes later, but to no avail. She outright refused.

"How can I ever make anything up to you if you won't let me kiss you?" I asked her, a bit frustrated, as Angelina pulled the curtains back to let in some sunlight into the dark shop. The light revealed all of the sparkling products crammed onto the walls; I had forgotten the vast quantity of everything. The room was filled to its bursting point with Skiving Snackboxes, punching telescopes, Wild-Fire Whiz-bangs, decoy detonators, Extendable Ears, Headless Hats, trick wands, love potions, hundreds of different things really. Everything here was made by Fred and I, working together. Everywhere I looked I saw him: his handiwork, his ideas, all of the pre-pranks we had played on everyone before it was deemed fit to sell. Fred and I had worked so hard on all of this, and now...

He was gone.

I sat down slowly on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the second level of the store, and rested my head in my hands. There were so many things he'd missed since he'd died; Angelina and I getting together, every birthday or family dinner we've had that would have been so much better with him there, hell, the death of Voldemort! Everything... I never would have neglected the store if he'd been here. Nothing would have changed. I realized then, though, that if he hadn't died I probably would not be here with Angelina. They'd only dated for a month or two in our sixth year, but I would have never gotten the courage to ask her out with Fred there. Plus, Angelina wouldn't ever had to drag me out of the house and take me on our little adventure. We'd still be best friends, with nothing changing, possibly ever.

But still. My brother, my twin, my other half, gone. _I didn't have a twin anymore_. It had seldom occurred to me lately that I'd never hear his laugh again and never be teased by him. I also realized that I hadn't done anything remotely funny worthy of my and Fred's pranks in previous years since he died. We used to be a riot together, literally-- stirring up trouble and cracking jokes every chance we got, and now here I was with a serious girlfriend, if you'd like to call it that. Fred never really had a serious girlfriend before.

Angelina came and sat next to me, with her arm around my shoulders.

"Hey. You okay?" She asked me quietly, all of the sarcasm and rebellion that had laced her words just minutes ago gone. I grunted in response. She stroked my shoulder with her thumb.

"Come on, we're almost done. We're so close, and then we can be done for today." We sat in silence for awhile, and then I got up, pushed past some boxes in my way, and walked out the door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

I shoved my hands in my pocket and hunched my shoulders, looking at the ground as I walked aimlessly around Diagon Alley. It wasn't very crowded; the time for buying school supplies had past, as it was now October. I wished I had thought to grab my coat on the way out, because the early fall breezes were dancing through the threads of my sweater and chilling me, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

Angelina ran after me, as I expected she would.

"George!" She called, and caught up to me, breathing heavily. As she stood before me, I looked into her eyes; there was nothing but concern in them. I wanted to tell her everything, I really did; but it was too hard. I needed to be alone for awhile.

"I-- I need to be alone. By myself. For...a little while," I said difficultly; the words did not come smoothly. Angelina looked confused.

"But--"

"It's not you, I promise," I added hastily. I kissed her then, and she didn't protest, even though she swore that we wouldn't kiss until the store was cleaned up. Then, I Disapparated on the spot and reluctantly left her standing there in the middle of Diagon Alley, confused and alone. She could handle it; she'd understand when I came back, thought I don't know when that will be.

I debated going to Bill and Fleur's, but I decided against it because they had enough to deal with, a baby almost here and such. They didn't need to worry about their sometimes-depressed brother. I couldn't go where I wanted to: Hogwarts.

So, I went to the first place I thought of. I went home.

I knew, though, that was a horrible idea because of all the people and how everything there would remind me of Fred. Unfortunately, I didn't think of this until I had Apparated into the garden.

A gnome gave me the dirtiest look I'd ever gotten; I looked down and it appeared that I had landed in his lunch. Before he could pounce on me and chew off my leg, I stepped out of it and wiped my shoes on some grass.

After my episode at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, I knew I couldn't go in the house unless I wanted to have some sort of mental breakdown. So, before anyone could notice me there, I spun on my foot and Apparated away.

I went somewhere I'd never been before: Fred's grave. I wasn't sure where he was buried, because I refused to attend the funeral and burial, but I thought in my head very clearly: Fred's grave. Opening my eyes, there it was. A modest gray headstone with his name on it, Frederick Arthur Weasley, and his birth date and date of death. I was sure that if I looked around this cemetery for awhile I'd find a few more stones with the same death date.

"_Look around the corner; that is where your laughter lies,_" I read from the headstone. It never occurred to me that someone had to have come up with an epitaph; I wondered who had decided on this. I knew the instant that Fred's body was brought home that I would have nothing to do with the funeral. I didn't go, I didn't plan, and I didn't help with the burial. Nobody questioned me; they mostly just left me alone, and all I did was curl up in my bed with my eyes squeezed shut, the tears streaming down my face. The only thoughts that were going through my head were: _he was dead._ I wanted it all to be a nightmare. Something I could wake up from.

Involuntarily, I fell to my knees.

"Dammit, Fred. Why'd you have to go and die? Didn't we swear, when we were seven, that we'd die on the same day, four minutes apart, like we were born?" I said. _I'm still here_, I thought,_ it's not supposed to be like that. I shouldn't be here. _I was trying to be angry, but it was all to keep me from bursting into tears-- they were already starting to blur my vision.

"I can't do anything now, without thinking of you. I don't know how I'm ever going to go back into the shop without hitting something." I was silently hoping that maybe, just maybe, Fred would come back, even as a hallucination, like in the Three Broomsticks a few months ago. He made everything better then. Why is now so different?

A tear dripped out of my eyes and slid down my nose before dropping onto the vividly green grass at my knees.

"I love her," I whispered, "and she might even love me too. But..."

A very loud crack sounded directly behind me; I whipped my head around to see who was there, but obviously they weren't there anymore. Whoever it was had Disapparated.

**

* * *

I'm sorry, but every time I think of Fred dying it makes me cry--it was the only time in the whole series where I cried. :') Please let me know what you think! I love getting reviews! Love, Miranda**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! :) About the same four people are reviewing every time, so I know THEY like the story! The rest of you guys-- let me know if you like it! Love, Miranda**

**

* * *

**I tried to talk to Fred a little more after that, but I couldn't focus; not when I had the feeling that someone had heard me say that I loved Angelina, and who knows what else they'd heard. I wanted to speak to Fred alone. I was great at confessing things when it was just me and another person, but a third person will occasionally make things awkward. Subconsciously, I kept looking over my shoulder, just to make sure no one was there.

I did feel a little better after talking to him, even if he didn't talk back--this time-- so, I Apparated back to my flat. Directly into the flat, not down into the store to walk upstairs. Angelina, much to my surprise, was waiting for me on the couch. For some reason I think I expected her to go home. She had a second cup of tea next to her; for me, I presumed. She stood up when she saw me, and walked over to me. She slipped her hands behind my neck.

"He would have been proud of what a Weasley you just were," she said softly, and stretched up to kiss me. The kiss sent chills running through my body; it seems that I had forgotten what she felt like, preoccupied by other things as I had been. I responded enthusiastically, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around, our lips still joined. For three full minutes, I didn't think about anything but Angelina; it was pure bliss. I thought about her lips, her hands, her hair, our future together. Getting married. Having kids. It was then that I realized that was what I wanted: to be with her forever.

Somehow we ended up on the couch. I sat on one end and Angelina laid her head in my lap, stretching the rest of her body over the couch. Her eyes were closed, but a faint smile remained on her lips. _'He would have been proud of what a Weasley you just were.' What did she mean by that?_ I wondered, as the thought had just occurred to me. So, I asked her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at me. "You Weasleys are always ready to drop everything to do what needs to be done. You needed to..." she hesitated, "be by yourself, so that's what you did." I didn't ask about who she thought would be proud of me; I knew the moment she said 'he'.

I took a sip of my tea. When the tea dripped into my empty stomach, my stomach growled at me. It was probably angry with me for not filling it. I hadn't eaten anything but toast all day and it was now around four-thirty in the afternoon.

"You really have to stop all of these irregular eating patterns," Angelina said, and sat up. I kissed the side of her face and shuffled into the kitchen to find something to eat. The pantry was nearly bare except for a container of oatmeal.

"We need to go shopping for some more food," I called to Angelina, but pulled out the oatmeal. I poured some water in the tea kettle to boil and turned around to see Angelina with a piece of parchment and a quill. We spent the next few minutes making a list of things to get at the store. My hand dove into my pocket and pulled out four Galleons, which I handed to her before she Apparated to the grocery.

The tea kettle was whistling insistently, so I filled a bowl half-full with the hot water and dumped some oatmeal in there. I wasn't sure how well this was going to work, because I had never made oatmeal before, but this seemed along the right lines of how to go about doing. My face screwed up involuntarily when I stirred it with a spoon; it looked like oats in water. I was hoping for a thicker effect. Maybe it would thicken up if I let it sit for awhile.

I made my way to the rocking chair and bookcase in the far corner to pick up a book to read while my oatmeal made itself suitable for eating. I plucked the first book I saw off the shelf: a book of poems written by Emily Dickinson and opened it to the first page; I began to read.

"The heart asks pleasure first, and then, excuse from pain, and then, those little anodynes that deaden suffering," I read quietly. After the first two requests in the poem, my immediate instinct was to shut the book and shove it back on the shelf. I debated silently whether or not my priorities matched Dickinson's: did I want pleasure or relief from pain first? It was a tough question, and too tough an answer; I willed myself to finish the poem.

"And then, to go to sleep, and then, if it should be, the will of its Inquisitor, the liberty," I gulped, "to die." I closed the book slowly and returned it to its slot on the bookshelf. With the last word of the poem, I knew instantly that I Emily Dickinson and I did not agree on everything. I was not going to let this pain consume me to the point where I was asking for death, like she seemed to be suggesting. We were alike in one sense, though: the heart, _my_ heart, asks for pleasure first. But, the thing that Emily never thought of that I knew was that if the pleasure is true, than the pleasure in itself brings all relief from pain.

At least, my pleasure does. Angelina can make me forget about everything.

I rocked in the chair for awhile, gazing out the window at the filmy shadows the sun was casting over the streets of Diagon Alley. Without even thinking about it, I raised an imaginary pipe to my lips and puffed out. Then I began to laugh. Fred used to do that every now and then, when he was thinking hard. And for the first time in awhile, instead of scowling when thinking of Fred, I smiled.

I heard a crack and turned around. Angelina was standing there with two full bags of groceries, smiling.

"You should laugh more often," she said, smiling endearingly. I got up and ran to kiss her, enthused in my happiness for a moment.

After we put away the groceries, Angelina took my hand and led me to the couch, where the atmosphere turned serious. We sat down and she held my hands tightly and looked at them while talking to me.

"George," she said quietly.

"Angelina," I said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work; she ignored my attempt at charm.

"Listen. I stopped at my parents' place before I went to the store."

"Okay," I said, trying to encourage her to open up.

"And... well, it would mean a lot to me if you would stop by there with me later tonight," she murmured. This was obviously very uncomfortable for her; I squeezed her hands.

"To meet them?" I asked her, and then cursed under my breath. I knew immediately after asking that was not the reason we were going to her parents' home. Something else was going on.

"No." I could barely hear her, and leaned in to hear her better. "To go get my stuff." A tear slid off her nose and dripped onto the knuckle of my right thumb. I understood what she meant by that right when she said it. They were throwing her out. "Oh, baby," I whispered, pulling her onto my lap and wrapping my arms around her. I don't know how long we stayed like that, Angelina curled up to my chest and me rubbing her back and whispering quiet reassurances that I hoped would make her feel better. "Sweet nothings" Mum used to call the things I was saying.

"Would it be better if I didn't go?" I asked, kissing the top of her head. She shook her head violently.

"No. You... you need to be there. He needs to see why he's kicking me out." She glared at some imaginary thing far off in the distance.

"Why exactly, if I may ask, is he kicking you out?" I asked cautiously, not wanting to set off more tears. Angelina looked me right in the eye and then kissed me very, very softly; chills ran through my body. She pulled away.

"Because I love you."

* * *

Oddly enough, Angelina's parents' house looked exactly like the one in my dream, which I still haven't mentioned to her. I decided that wouldn't be a bright idea, especially not now. Maybe after while.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked her, clutching her hand tightly as she gazed at the house distantly. She nodded swiftly and let go of my hand to run up to the door and knock, firmly. I was surprised at this sudden burst of confidence. Following her up the walk, I strode slowly and caught up right when the door swung open, revealing a strong-shouldered black man. I dared to look in his eyes briefly; yes, they were Angelina's eyes.

"I'll just be a minute, Dad," Angelina said quietly, and stepped around him to run up some stairs directly across from from the front door. Breathing deeply, I regained my composure and stuck out my hand like I had seen Muggles do before. Angelina's father crinkled his eyebrows but gripped my hand tightly and shook it.

"I'm George Weasley," I said.

"Mr. Johnson," he replied stiffly. He was obviously trying to hold something back, maybe hold his tongue. Even though we haven't had the friendliest of introductions, things seemed to be going better than my dream had prepared me for. I was still on edge, waiting for this man to turn into a bear and tear my throat out.

Mr. Johnson did not invite me inside, instead stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind him.

"What sort of _right_ do you think you have to my daughter?" He said through gritted teeth once the door was completely shut. I was a bit taken aback; I thought this had been going well. I shifted my weight uncomfortably.

"Well, sir, I don't think I'm obligated to Angelina at all. Sometimes I still can't believe how lucky I am that she finally chose me," I said, choosing my words carefully. I knew, though, after the word 'finally' that I had not chosen carefully enough.

"'Finally?'" He quoted, raising his eyebrows impatiently. I tried to think quickly.

"Angelina's been my best friend ever since we started going to Hogwarts," I said. He appeared to tense up at the mention of our school. "And I've known that she was more to me than a friend ever since we were about fourteen." I added quietly. He nodded, frowning.

At this point, Angelina opened the front door with a bag on her shoulder and a quilt in her arms.

"Oh, George," she said distractedly, trying to act as if nothing was wrong, "Mum wants to meet you so--"

"Not now," Mr. Johnson interrupted, "Another time. Go."

Angelina looked up at him, pleading with her eyes for some sort of forgiveness or love of some sort, but he showed none. Instead, he went back inside and closed the door briskly. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and walked her towards the front gate. I looked away so I wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes.

We turned onto the sidewalk and followed it, though I didn't know where I was going and Angelina was looking at the ground. It didn't seem to matter. Neither of us made any move to Apparate back to my flat.

We were passing a park; one of those little hidden things. It couldn't have been more than three hundred-fifty square meters, more of a public courtyard than a park. It was filled with tall trees that the fading sunlight was glimmering through and casting shadows everywhere. I led Angelina into it. It seemed like a bit of a private place.

I offered to take the quilt from her arms and carry it for her, but she refused bluntly.

"No." And then her voice dropped. "I need something to squeeze." Then, I stopped walking and turned towards her. I took the quilt out of her arms and set her bag on the ground. Without looking at her eyes, because I knew I couldn't bear the sadness in them, I wrapped my arms around her. It was evident that all she needed was to be held.

"You can squeeze me," I said, and it brought a breath of a laugh out of her. I hadn't meant it to be funny, but she responded as I hoped she would: she held onto me so so tightly that everything she was feeling transferred to me. She was confused. She was sad. She was frustrated that her father didn't understand her staying with me, and disappointed that her mother didn't stand up for her.

"Don't judge them," she said, murmuring into the crook of my neck.

"I won't," I said, agreeing with her without thinking about it. I figured it was best not to over-think things right now and to instead just tell her what she needed to hear.

"It'll be alright, love. I promise."

* * *

"I think we should reopen the shop tomorrow," Angelina was saying as we laid next to each other in my bed. She had seemed to cheer up after we went back to my flat, picking up Chinese take-away on the way there. It was something I'd never eaten before, but Angelina, with her Muggle background, insisted that it was very good. She, as usual, was right. Angelina stared at the ceiling.

"Tomorrow? Don't you think that's a little soon?" I asked her, surprised.

"It's been months, George. Might as well be tomorrow as it would be in another month or two." I could see that she had a point. "That is, if you think you can..."

"I can handle it," I said quietly. Angelina turned onto her side to face me, propping her head up with her elbow on the bed. Her eyelids were beginning to flutter closed; she was exhausted after such an emotionally demanding day.

"My dad didn't, er, say anything to you, did he?" She said suddenly, changing the subject. Her eyes opened and they looked right into mine.

"Not really," I answered, and then I sort of pushed myself toward her with my right arm and lowered myself on top of her very slowly, holding her gaze the whole time to make sure she was alright with it. Before she could say anything regarding her father, Fred, or the store, I kissed her. First on her lips, and then down her neck, across her face, and then back to her mouth. I tried to make a point for this kiss to be long and slow, because sometimes that's just the way she wanted it. I didn't think she was quite in the mood for a fiery, sexually-frustrated-driven kiss. There would be a time for that, but I don't think it will be today.

Much, _much_, later, I found myself with a sleeping Angelina lying on top me. I laid there for an hour or two, listening to her breathe, trying to convince myself that this was all real, and she was mine, maybe forever, before falling asleep myself.

**

* * *

I liked this chapter, I really do-- I think you get to see a much more sensitive side of George and a very fragile side of Angelina. Review, please! :) Miranda**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! Let me know what you think! -Miranda

* * *

**

"Welcome to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and thank you for attending our grand re-opening today!" I announced, with a grin, to the crowd of people waiting anxiously below me. I was standing on the balcony of the store, the second floor, with Angelina, and an enormous flood of people had showed up today when I posted an advertisement in the Daily Prophet yesterday, letting the world know that we were back in business, this time for good. We weren't able to make Angelina's deadline of 'tomorrow', but I think the day after suits itself just fine.

I took a deep breath and, collecting myself, continued.

"As most of you probably know, my twin brother Fred was killed in the final battle to destroy Voldemort." An immediate silence fell over the crowd. Angelina squeezed my hand tightly, and a faint smile found my lips as she did so. "So," I said, and with a wave of my wand conjured up a glass of Butter Beer for everyone. I lifted mine in the air. "To Fred."

"To Fred," the crowd echoed, and drank the Butter Beer with vigor.

"Now, as you go about shopping," I said once the majority had finished, "remember that Fred was the genius behind most of these things, and that whenever you use them the spirit of him will be right along side you, cheering you on or yelling at you for doing it wrong." This earned a laugh. "Thank you," I finished, and to my surprise, the crowd began to applaud. I let go of Angelina's hand, and in the true spirit of Fred, took a little bow and winked. After a minute the crowd dispersed to go and buy everything in sight. I had a feeling that I'd have to start restocking by tomorrow morning.

I turned to Angelina and she kissed me, which earned a few wolf whistles from the few whose eye we'd caught. Her arms slipped around my neck, and if I'm not mistaken, one of her legs lifted at the knee, which of course got us another whistle. She pulled away with a smirk, and then Ron came up to us.

"Bloody good job cleaning the place up, George. Looks nearly better than before," Ron said, looking around. The surprised sound in his voice brought a smile to my face.

"It was mostly Angelina. I just..." My eyes darted to her, debating whether or not to tell Ron what went on exactly. "Complained the whole time." I think Ron sort of understood what I was talking about, as he shot me a wink.

"Where's Hermione?" Angelina asked, changing the subject. Ron shrugged.

"Oh," he said, looking past me and Angelina, "there she is. By those puffy things that Ginny has."

"Pygmy Puffs?" I asked.

"I dunno. The pink things. Well, I'll catch up with you later," Ron said. He sounded distracted; he had been lately whenever it came to Hermione. He ran off to join her, and Angelina and I Apparated downstairs to work the registers. People were piling in, buying all sorts of things, and I was calculating in my head how much I'd have to re-stock by tomorrow. It began to give me a headache, so I left to let Angelina run things. I had to find Verity, the girl who used to help us run things before we shut down. I'd have to hire at least one more person as well, if things kept up like this.

Verity would be here. I knew she would be here. I just had to find her. I weaved through crowds and pushed past people, calling her name all the while. She'd be around here somewhere.

There she was. By our supply of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

"Verity Arnold!" I yelled, and her head whipped around to grin at me at the sound of her name.

"George Weasley!" She said brightly and opened her arms for a hug. I obliged and then stepped back to talk business.

"Verity, I know it's been months and you probably have another job, but I would like to offer you your job back here, working just as you did before we closed," I said, all in one breath. She nodded briskly, her blonde hair bobbing.

"I'll be in tomorrow. Ten to eight? And are you still going to be open every day but Tuesday and Wednesday?" I nodded, even though I hadn't exactly thought it out at all.

"A Galleon and three Sickles an hour sound all right to you?" I offered. She contemplated it for awhile, and dubbed it appropriate. We shook hands firmly. "I'll need you to work the register until I can hire a few more people."

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Mr. Weasley," she said, and walked away to the Skiving Snackboxes. Satisfied for the time being, I went back downstairs to help Angelina handle the hoards of people that were buying up everything I had.

* * *

Sinking into the couch, I Summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write an inventory list, or at least what I needed more of. Angelina sat next to me and handed me a cup of tea and a biscuit.

"I rehired Verity and I'll probably hire a few more people to keep things running while we aren't around," I said, even though I knew Angelina was already aware of this. She kissed the side of my face and rubbed the back of my neck with one hand.

"We've got plenty of Pygmy Puffs," Angelina noted, pointing to my parchment. "They've been breeding for the past four months. We'll be fine for awhile." I nodded and marked it on the parchment. She helped me for awhile, and then got up and went to the kitchen while I finished up. Within minutes I could smell meat sizzling and hear water boiling.

"Making spaghetti, love?" I called, wrapping up the last sentence on how to make Fever Fudge. I had a plan to teach several people to make the products so I wouldn't have to do all of it, and spend more time with Angelina, and maybe, just maybe... the kids. Someday.

"Sure am, _love_," she laughed, and I set my parchment and quill on the coffee table. I walked over to the kitchen; Angelina was facing the stove and stirring what looked like marinara sauce in a sauce pan. Her head was cocked, like she was imagining something in her mind, or thinking deeply about something. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. I kissed the side of her neck and she snapped back to reality.

"What's so funny?" I asked her, referring to her laughing just a moment ago. Without even thinking about it, I lowered my head onto her shoulder. Angelina tapped the spoon on the side of the pan and then set it on the stove. She turned around and snaked her arms around my neck. I pressed her against the counter; she leaned back and I rested my forehead against hers.

"I love when you call me that," she said, stretching up to kiss the corner of my mouth.

"Love?" I asked, making sure that we were both on the same page.

"Love," she reassured me. "Now let go!" She squealed when I squeezed her waist. "The sauce is going to burn!"

I laughed and released her. She stirred the sauce and then poured the dry pasta into the boiling water, sprinkling a bit of salt into the pot. She turned her head again, so I knew she was thinking about something. Maybe the something she was thinking of before I came over here.

"What's on your mind?" I asked her, hoisting myself up onto the counter next to the stove. Angelina looked at me, and smiled.

"You." I felt the heat rise up into my cheeks, but I was naturally curious. Maybe it would just be better to hold my tongue and find out later. Angelina had nurtured a knack for answering all my unspoken questions.

We ate the spaghetti quietly. Occasionally we would look up at each other, usually at the same time. We'd give each other a little, sneaky smile and then go back to eating. After we finished, I complimented her on supper and began to wash the dishes. I washed them by myself, alone in the kitchen, because Angelina had disappeared in the direction of my bedroom. I was very torn at the thought of us together, in my bedroom, in that way. She was beautiful, and I loved her to death, don't get me wrong. To be honest, I wanted her beyond what words can say. But I'd grown up on rather conservative values, even if Fred and I were sort of regarded as ''ladies' men'' in school. My parents tried to teach us, indirectly, that sex was to be put off until marriage. Besides, Angelina and I promised each other we'd try to take it slow. As far as I know, she understood what I had meant by that.

I put the last of the dishes away in the cabinet and turned around to see Angelina wearing one of my old t-shirts, one with a Gryffindor logo on it. The thin shirt skimmed over the waistband of some very short shorts; they were covered by the shirt completely. I'll admit it: I stared. I took my time looking over every bit of her, from the curve of her hips and breasts to her strong calf muscles and arms.

"I found this in your closet, and it reminded me of me and Alicia after Quidditch matches," she explained, snapping me out of my hypnotic state. "We'd go and change into big, old t-shirts and shorts and sit around and talk," she continued. "Mostly about Quidditch, but sometimes the conversation would veer towards... other topics." She winked. "Sometimes we'd even paint each other's toenails."

"Is that what you want me to do?" I laughed. "Paint your toenails?"

"If you want to... Weasley." She shot me a tired grin, but it was the same devilish little half-smile that I had grown so fondly accustomed to. "I'll be right back," she said, not giving me any time to even answer the question. Great. What had I gotten myself into?

While Angelina disappeared, I waved my wand to boil a pot of water and then steep some tea. Angelina emerged from my room, holding a bottle of red nail polish, and I wordlessly handed her a cup of tea. She held out the bottle.

"Am I supposed to take this?" I asked, looking down at it with what I'm sure was a confused look. "You really want me to paint your toenails?" She nodded. "You _are_ aware that even when I was twelve I never colored inside the lines?"

"I'd be disappointed if you did," she said. "I'd probably ask what happened to you. You're certainly not a color-inside-the-lines sort of person, George."

We sat criss-crossed on the floor of the kitchen and I unscrewed the lid of the small bottle. I lifted the cap, which was attached to a brush, and watched it drip down off the brush onto the side of the bottle. Silently, Angelina took it out of my hands and demonstrated how to wipe the brush on the inside of the lip of the bottle before lifting the brush. She held it out, and it didn't drip. I was impressed. I suppose my face showed it, because Angelina laughed.

She curled up with her knees to her chest and I moved myself back. As carefully as I could, I wiped the red brush on her big toenail. I furrowed my eyebrows; it looked messy. I used very tiny strokes until I had it just perfect, and ended up using my finger to try and wipe the excess paint off of her skin. It ended up smearing. I frowned.

"Angie, I'm sorry, but I just don't think I'm cut out for this," I sighed and sit back.

"Come on now, you have to finish! It's been a whole four minutes and you've got one down!"

"Only nine left," I mumbled, and went on to the next one. This one was much smaller, and took me less time. Within the next few minutes I finished her left foot, and then moved on to her right. Uh, oh. Here we go: the dreaded big toe.

"Maybe you should do this one," I said, trying to be helpful, but Angelina laughed and pushed the brush back towards me.

"Here," she said, taking my hand, "you have to dip it back in the bottle every once in awhile so you don't run out of paint." I didn't quite understand why there wasn't enough, because the brush was still red, but I repeated what I had done earlier: I stuck the brush back into the bottle and wiped the extra onto the sides.

"Good job," she whispered, and I painted her right foot without too much difficulty.

"Reminds me of the good old days," she laughed, and lifted her foot, wiggling her toes.

"It sort of looks like one of the gnomes out of our garden decided to snack on your toes," I noted. She took a second look.

"Fine, I suppose they do." She shuddered. "I hate gnomes." I smiled, remembering the incident back and the Burrow a few months ago, when the gnome had bitten Angelina on the leg and I had to pry it off. We were quiet for a moment. I found myself studying the floor. The black and white tiles reminded me of her; not the color of her skin, but her blunt, sometimes brutal, honesty. She told me everything I've ever needed to know, everything I've needed to hear. She was there when Fred died; she's the one who got me out of the Burrow, back into my life. Angelina literally dragged me out of my comfort zone and _made_ me cheer up. She'd done that only once before, and the funny thing is, she didn't even know why she was doing it. I still don't know if she knew she did it at all.

You see, in our sixth year, she and Fred dated for about a month. Before Fred died, that was the only month in my existence that I'd ever been completely miserable. Angelina noticed this very soon after I started moping, and she and I took a day off from school. We skipped all our classes, something new for her but something I'd become quite an expert at, and hung out in the Forbidden Forest all day, even though it was January. That was one of the many days that had been a turning point for our relationship. That day, she'd been everything I needed.

"I love you," I said, voicing my thoughts out loud. Angelina laughed and stood up, offering me a hand. I took it, helping myself to stand. Angelina snaked her arms around my waist and looked up.

"I love you, too, _love_," she said, adding an emphasis on the last word. I raised both of my eyebrows at her, and we looked at each other for a minute before bursting in to peals of laughter. Once we had calmed down a little, she tilted her head up and kissed me.

We kissed for a long time. That's all I can tell you, because honestly, that's all I remember.

The next thing I knew, the front door to my flat opened and Angelina and I broke apart with a start. We looked over to the door without letting go of each other. It was Angelina's mother, and she looked very frazzled. Angelina untangled herself from my arms and hurried over to her.

"Mum, are you--"

"Angelina, George..." Mrs. Johnson said, "you have to leave. Now." She looked at Angelina. "Your father is gone, and the Muggle police have George as their prime suspect."

**

* * *

PLEASE review! I really do love hearing from you guys. Your comments make my day :) Love, Miranda**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for reviewing, guys! Keep 'em coming! Love, Miranda**

**

* * *

**Angelina, as usual, didn't think twice about anything she'd just heard. She immediately ran into my room and grabbed a rucksack, throwing clothes into it madly. I stood there sort of awkwardly with Angelina's mother, trying to figure out why the Muggle police would be after me instead of some Wizard police. Then I remembered that Angelina was Muggle born, though why her mother would report this all to the police I couldn't comprehend.

"Why--" I began to speak, but she cut me off and introduced herself.

"Marcelina Johnson," her mother said, sticking out her hand. I blinked.

"Oh, yeah... George, George Weasley." I shook her hand, stuttering. Mrs. Johnson smiled kindly.

"Glad we've got that out of the way," she replied. We stood there awkwardly for a moment. "Some neighbors seem to have seen you arguing with my husband, and now he's missing. They heard me yelling about the house, looking for him, and someone called the damned police. I have such nosy neighbors," she explained. Even though it appeared that I was wanted for kidnapping, I smiled. Her bluntness reminded me fondly of Angelina.

Angelina reappeared and held out my rucksack. Evidently I was the one to carry it. It wasn't as heavy as I'd expected it to be. I turned away from Mrs. Johnson and to Angelina. She looked back at me with concern in her eyes.

"It was those damn Wullingtons," she cursed, and I figured she was talking about the nosy neighbors her mother had mentioned. I bent down and kissed her softly, hoping to calm her down a little. After I pulled away, I thought I saw a blush rise into her cheeks.

"_George_," she murmured irritably out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes looked past me; I glanced over my shoulder to see Mrs. Johnson smiling at us endearingly. Oh, I got it now. Angelina was _embarrassed_.

"Don't mind me," Mrs. Johnson said as we turned around. "We _are_ going to be on the run together, so we all may as well get used to it."

"George can learn to contain himself," Angelina said firmly.

"Wait, you're coming with us?" I asked her, confused.

"Why, yes. The police will be questioning me, and they're bound to get me on something. Besides, I couldn't hardly explain anything without bringing up magic. Plus I haven't left town for months." She winked; I stared at her. I now knew where Angelina got her spontaneous streak. "And I really don't understand why we aren't leaving now."

"Oh," I said dumbly. Angelina pushed me out the door from behind me. Before she could close it, I slipped back inside and ran to the coffee table. I picked up the parchment with all of the instructions for the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products and folded it carefully, placing it in my front pocket. I had a feeling Fred wouldn't have wanted me to leave that lying around, especially if the police might come in here to search.

What am I talking about? This is Diagon Alley. Muggles can't get in here! Which made me wonder...

"Mrs. Johnson?" I called, running back to the door and exiting through it. "How exactly..." My voice trailed off as I raised an eyebrow at her, closing the door behind me.

"Did I get here?" She smiled knowingly. "The Ministry of Magic sometimes grants special privileges to Muggle parents of exceptional witches and wizards."

"Mum went out with the Director of Muggle Intervention Affairs for awhile," Angelina said, and her mother laughed. "He still has a sweet spot for me," Mrs. Johnson said.

"Oh, well, then. Shall we get going?" They nodded and I managed to scamper after then as they took off briskly down the hallway. Well, this is just fantastic: now I have _two_ crazy women to try to keep up with. I grinned in spite of myself. Here we were, going on another adventure, running from the law. It'd been less than ten minutes and I was already loving every bit of it.

I caught up to Angelina and her mother down the hall, and tried to restrain myself from grabbing Angelina's hand out of habit. Instead, I walked very close to her, and every so often our fingers would brush. I could have sworn I saw her shudder.

We stood in Diagon Alley.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "do we have a plan?"

"Why, no, dear," Angelina's mother said airily. "But, is there anywhere in particular either one of you would like to go?" Mrs. Johnson turned to us. Angelina's eyes lit up with excitement; she'd always had a thing for traveling spontaneously. The only words in my head, though, that came to mind were, _with Fred. Anywhere with Fred._ I blinked a few times in quick succession, then shook my head. Mrs. Johnson gave me a weird look, but the empathy in Angelina's eyes let me know that she understood what I'd been thinking.

"Something in my eye," I muttered, but Mrs. Johnson had already gone back to thinking.

"Why do we have to leave?" I asked her. "The Muggle police can't get to my flat." Mrs. Johnson smiled at me strangely.

"Of course, dear, but wouldn't it be nice to leave? Get away?" Her eyes flooded with excitement. "Anywhere in the world!" It puzzled me why she didn't want to go look for her husband. It was almost as if that wasn't the reason she was here. Angelina flashed me a cautious look, so I kept my mouth shut, trusting that she would take care of things. Being the take-charge person she is, Angelina usually got things done.

"Mum..." Angelina began, and I could tell by the look in her eyes that the gears of her brain were whirring quickly. She was trying to think of something to say. Again, I was puzzled because it shouldn't be that hard, I would think. Her mum has offered anywhere in the world!

"How about we just go for a day in London? We could eat somewhere and then go to a museum or something. And then we'll just come back home," Angelina suggested carefully. I wasn't thinking of where we should go, though. My only thought was: she called my flat 'home'. My heart swelled and I smiled at the thought of it. We were really getting somewhere. Her mother hesistated at this suggestion, but then nodded slowly.

"I'll be right back," Angelina said, squeezing my hand. "I have to go get my purse. I forgot it the other day." Before I could ask why she'd do such a thing, Angelina spun on her heel and shut her eyes, preparing to Apparate.

"Lina, you can't go back there. The place is crawling with Muggle Police." Angelina ignored her mother and Apparated anyway. I couldn't help but smile at her rebellion. She'd find a way to get around the police.

"Excuse me a moment," I said to Mrs. Johnson. I Apparated upstairs to my flat to get some money, before realizing that Muggle restaurants don't take Wizard money. Sighing, I started to walk back towards the door and passed the linen closet. I paused to look at it: how could such a simple closet have caused so much drama? Then it all came back to me.

I remembered the linen closet incident very clearly: Angelina got me thinking that something dead and awful was in the closet, and made me open it just to see that it was clean. I then pretended to faint, which scared the living daylights out of her.

Yeah. I won't be doing that again.

Running down the stairs and out the door, I found Angelina talking to her mother. She turned to me and began to speak.

"I Apparated into my closet, where my purse was at. I still can't believe I forgot to take it when we came to get my things." She said the last sentence carefully, looking away from Mrs. Johnson. It was clearly a sensitive subject.

"Shall we?" I asked, but I didn't even need to say anything.

We all sat in a little bistro not far from King's Cross. So far, there hadn't been much talking, although every so often Mrs. Johnson would ask me about my family and when she would get to meet them and things like that. Other than that, not much had been sad, which in my eyes, was a positive thing. The last thing I needed was for Angelina's mother to inquire about our living arrangements.

Angelina picked at her salad in silence. There were definitely going to be some questions asked by me later, once her mother had gone. First she's acting strangely, and now she orders a _salad_? Angelina Johnson, _my_ Angelina Johnson, is eating a _salad_. Last time I checked, she wouldn't be caught dead eating a salad. Although now that I looked at it, she wasn't really eating it. More of a pushing-around-the-plate-to-make-it-look-like-she's-eating-it sort of thing.

She licked her lips before taking a sip of water and suddenly I had a very strong urge to kiss her. I set my fork down, and, without thinking about it, began to lean over to do just that. Then I remembered that Angelina had gotten embarrassed last time I'd kissed her in front of her mum, so I abruptly sat back. They both peered at me oddly. I didn't mind, though: Angelina owed me later, to make up for all of these kisses lost.

After another few minutes of eating, Mrs. Johnson stood up, surprising both Angelina and I.

"Well, dears, thank you for a lovely time. I ought to be going now." She set her napkin, which had been on her lap, on the table, and began to walk away.

"Um," I said dumbly, "good-bye, Mrs. Johnson!" I called after her.

"Mum!" Angelina cried, and her face was stricken with a look that could only be described as forlorn. Mrs. Johnson turned around and looked at me.

"Call me Marcelina." With that, she winked, and was gone just as suddenly as she had come.

* * *

We sat on the sofa once Angelina paid with Muggle money and Apparated back to my flat, and as soon as we did Angelina burst into tears.

"When I Apparated back to my house, I ran into my dad. He's not gone. There weren't any police." I was quiet. A tear from Angelina's big brown eyes dripped onto my shirt. She looked at me, and sure enough, her eyes were brimming with tears. Angelina, crying? This meant something big was going on. She was the toughest girl I knew, tougher than most blokes for sure, and while I counted myself lucky to be able to see both sides of her, it confused and pained me at the same time. "I'm so sorry, George." I squeezed her tightly.

"Hey, now, hold on a minute. You don't have anything to be sorry for. Just because your dad came back--" Angelina, as usual, cut me off before I could finish what I was going to say.

"He didn't come back, George. He was never gone. My mother... she... well, she has some problems. She was in therapy for compulsive lying a few years back, because she used to do this sort of thing all the time. She used to run away from my dad a lot. And me. And my brother. Right after he was born, she left for five months. We never heard from her; for all we knew she could have been dead. When she showed back up, she just acted like nothing happened. She still, to this day, has not told us where she went." I laid there in shock. Mrs. Johnson had seemed so much like Angelina.

"And my dad didn't help much-- he acted like nothing was wrong. Mum would come home, and then he'd yell and be angry for weeks." Not knowing what else to say, or what else to do, I stroked the back of her head and whispered, "Oh, baby." She was hurting so much; I just wanted to hold her and make it all go away, but I didn't think twenty years of inconsistency could be healed in minutes.

Angelina cried. She cried and cried and cried until I thought that any minute now, she was going to start screaming because all the tears would run out. Instead, she broke into dry sobs and gripped me very tightly. I had never felt so helpless in my life.

"I should have known this was just another one of her games," she sighed, once she'd calmed down a little. I was still slightly in shock; I didn't know what to say. "I promised myself I'd never be like her. And now look at me. I'm just as bad as her, if not worse," she continued. "I left him. I left Adam in the same situation I was in, except now he's all alone."

"Adam will be fine, Angelina. He's at Hogwarts." It was as if every word I said passed right over her head. Angelina began to cry again. Suddenly, she got up out of my lap and stormed off out of the living room and into my bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I sighed, because by now her mood swings and spontaneity didn't really surprise me so much anymore, particularly in a situation like this one.

After a moment of sitting in stunned silence, I somehow managed a laugh. I thought it was funny that she went off into _my _room to get away from me, to be alone.

Alright, now that I think about it, it doesn't make much sense. But it was funny at the time.

I got up off of the sofa and, using magic, made a quick cup of hot tea with honey, her favorite. Then I took it with me to go and sit outside the door of my room that Angelina has slammed herself into.

"GEORGE!" Angelina yelled from inside. She sounded extremely distraught, and it vaguely sounded like the she was punching a pillow. But that could have been my imagination.

"Yes, love?" I asked softly. I could have sworn I heard her giggle within the angry sobs.

"IF I EVERY SPEAK POSITIVELY OF MY MOTHER AGAIN, REMIND ME THAT I HATE HER!" I decided it would be best not to argue with her right now, or point out that she did not really hate her mother, because she was in a very fragile emotional state. So, I agreed to remind her. I heard a 'thump' and then something sounding sort of like a lamp fell over. Then she was quiet, and it sounded like she she collapsed onto my bed. I stood up and turned the handle of the door slowly, peeking inside. Sure enough, she was sprawled out like a starfish face-down on my bed, holding the pillow against her face. I walked over and carefully sat down on the edge.

"I brought you a cup of tea. Would you like it?" I asked Angelina cautiously. "I even put some honey in it."

"Rdbthorj."

"Pardon?"

Angelina laughed and sat up. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying; she took my hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. Her sad eyes bore into my anxious ones.

"I said 'You're the best, George'." And then she leaned over and kissed me.

**

* * *

As long as it took me, I really like this chapter! I had to revise it a lot. Please review! It would mean so much to me. :) -Miranda**


	8. Author's Note

**Hey guys! Sorry this isn't the update you've been waiting for. I've been extremely busy lately, and have about three huge projects due in two weeks, so FanFiction for me is going to have to go on hold for awhile. I promise to work super-hard on these projects and get them done early so I can focus on finishing up the next chapter of "Where to Begin." Please stick with me; there are some interesting plot developments coming up if you do. Please review if you don't hate me!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much for being patient! Please let me know what you think. It would mean so much to me. :) Review please!!! --Miranda

* * *

**

The next morning at breakfast neither of us mentioned Angelina's mother, or any of her family for that matter. Neither of us needed her to have another breakdown.

I folded a piece of buttered toast in half and put the whole thing in my mouth. Angelina looked up from her plate and rolled her eyes. I smiled; it reminded me of our days at Hogwarts, all of us sitting around the table stuffing our faces.

"Now, you can't go criticizing me. You've done quite your share of binging, Miss Johnson," I pointed out after sipping some tea. Angelina looked at me again and raised an eyebrow. Then, she proceeded to fold _two_ pieces of toast in half and shoved both pieces in her mouth at the same time. After a moment, she swallowed triumphantly and folded her arms across her chest, daring me to top her.

"Love, you know I hate to make you look bad," I said, channeling my twin's cockiness and standing up to offer her my hand. She took it, but after she stood up she let go of my hand and wrapped her arms around my neck, tightly if I might add. "So I won't even try." Her eyes locked onto mine for just a moment before our lips collided.

Her lips, not unlike her stomach a minute ago, were hungry; as were mine. We kissed there, in the kitchen, for what could have been hours. We kissed and kissed and kissed, long and slow and deep and tender, until our mouths ached. Or, at least, mine did, and I could feel my lips chapping after awhile. It was then, with Angelina, that I realized that _this_ is what I want. Her. To be with her forever. My best friend that I could have eating contests with, and then go and snog for hours. Someone who would run the shop with me. My best friend. My lover. As silly as it may sound, she is my _everything_.

Hmm. I could get used to this.

* * *

"George..." Angelina mumbled later that afternoon from her position on top of me. My eyes fluttered open and I smiled. We were still entangled in each other from our snog-fest earlier. Her skin was very warm against mine. Then I realized that both of our shirts were off, and all that Angelina was wearing was a bra and pajama pants. I tried to keep myself from shuddering at the mere thought of it.

I'll just assume that Angelina was talking in her sleep, because her eyes were still shut and her mouth was open, her cheek squished against my chest. I ran my hands up her sides and then back down, slowly, and then traced her spine with my fingertips. She shivered in her sleep.

"Angelina Johnson, if only you knew how much I love you," I said wistfully, even though I knew she was asleep. "I wake up next to you every morning and still can't believe that I'm this lucky to have you as my best friend _and_ my girlfriend. I love that nothing has changed. And honestly," I kissed the top of her head, "I don't care that your dad wants to kill me or that your mum is sort of crazy. I love you. So much." I went on about it for quite awhile, saying things that I'd only said in my mind. All the things I've wanted to say to her.

Sometime around the time I mentioned her parents, she stirred and opened her eyes. I smiled at her and kept talking. Then, she sat up and I got a good view of her, full-on. My words trailed off and I stared: her brown, flat stomach, the indentation of her belly-button, and then my eyes lingered on her chest. Angelina was wearing a simple, nude colored bra, no frills or lace. The Angelina I knew wouldn't be caught dead in a frilly, lacy bra. Oh, well, alright, maybe she would if I asked nicely.

"What?" She asked, sliding off my lap and off of the couch. "Are you disappointed?" She smirked. I didn't say anything, just smiled. What I wanted to do, I couldn't tell her: I wanted just to reach out and touch the skin under her bra, but I knew I couldn't. If I did that then we would both get carried away and probably go too far. So, while it killed me to do it, I handed her the shirt that was on the floor. She gave me a puzzled look but slipped it over her head.

"Angelina," I said suddenly. "Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?" Angelina pursed her lips like she was trying not to laugh.

"Weasley, we've been together for five months and you've never once asked me out on a date. Not to mention the ten years you liked me before that." She rolled her eyes and I grinned, standing up.

"So is that a yes? Will you?" I took her hands. Angelina looked up at me bluntly.

"No." She raised her eyebrows, uninterested. While I tried not to, my face fell and I probably looked disappointed.

"Why not?" I asked. She let go of my hands and put her hands on her hips, staring up at me. She almost looked angry.

"George Weasley. We just snogged for about three hours and we both ended up without a shirt and..." She threw her arms up in frustration and turned away from me. The words that followed were spoken very quietly, timidly. "I've never seen you look at me like that before. I've never seen _anyone _look like that at me before." She crossed her arms across her chest. I wasn't sure what to do, or what to say; sure, she'd been mad at me before, but never for something like this.

"George, you_ wanted_ me. I could tell by the look in your eyes."Her voice was wavering softly. "And then you had me put my shirt back on! And changed the subject! How could you _do_ something like that?" Angelina's voice was rising steadily, to the point of nearly sounding hysterical.

"Angelina, you know I--" I touched her shoulder, but she flinched away from my hand. That alone broke my heart into about four thousand pieces.

"'Love you', I know." She said, but it almost sounded as if she was mocking me. She sounded pained. "I heard everything you said earlier. Did you mean it? All of it?" She asked bitterly.

"Of course I did, baby," I said softly. "Can you let me explain? Please?" The words were beginning to come now. They wouldn't process before, but they were starting to. Angelina said nothing, which I took as my cue to start talking. But once I did, everything intelligent and romantic and sweet that I was going to say just disappeared from my head. Just as soon as the words came, they were gone again. The words were literally not there any more.

"I... I just want to take things slow," I said with difficulty. There were so many things I wanted to say to her to make everything better. But it was like, I couldn't. I just... couldn't. Angelina's shoulders shook, so even though I couldn't see her face, I knew she was crying. Silently. Even if I tried, I couldn't express how much I just wanted to take her in my arms and somehow, magically (no pun intended) make everything the way it was. Maybe even change the way things went.

I considered it. Would I, if I had known what her reaction would be, still given her her shirt back? I honestly couldn't say. I don't want to ruin anything by going too far, but it looks like I might have ruined _everything_ by not going far enough. That's ironic. Usually things happen like this the other way around; you know, people sleep together before they're really ready, and then everything is awkward and usually the girl ends up feeling used and the bloke disappointed. But now, because apparently I didn't go far enough, Angelina's sad and angry and all sorts of things, and well, I'm just confused.

"Is that all? Is that all you have to say?" Angelina's voice shook like her shoulders. Only now, she sounded rather angry. I said nothing, ashamed because I was unable to explain what I was feeling. My head hung. Angelina turned around. Her eyes were red and bloodshot and sad, so sad. Tracks of tears stained her cheeks, and I was tempted to brush them away and kiss her. But I didn't move.

"George." Her voice, cracked and watery, almost killed me. Not to mention those eyes.

"Angelina," I said, attempting to collect myself, "there are so many things I want to say to you right now. But it's like the words won't come. Just know that..." She looked up at me as I tried very hard to finish my sentence. I took one of her hands, and she didn't flinch. Instead, she squeezed faintly.

"I do want you. I always have. And I can promise you right now, Angelina Johnson, that I always will." I still felt like I didn't say everything I wanted to say, and I didn't really explain myself at all.

"I know," she whispered, but let go of my hand. I had a feeling I wasn't quite forgiven yet. Maybe that was because she turned around and disappeared into my room. I waited there, standing by the couch, for about ten minutes, but she didn't come out. As usual, she had baffled me and I wasn't sure what to do.

"Angelina?" I called, walking to my room and knocking softly on the door. No sound came from inside, so it seemed like no one could even be in the room. But, of course, I knew she was in there. I watched her go inside.

I wish Fred was here. He'd know what to do. Or rather, he wouldn't. Never mind. Well, I'd love to have him back, but he wouldn't know what to do. As confident as he came off, he really wasn't good at _keeping_ girls. Good at getting them in the first place, yes, but not keeping them.

Come to think of it, none of my brothers were very good at that except Bill. Ron pisses off Hermione all the time, Percy's still single, and I don't know what the hell is up with Charlie and his latest girlfriend.

I could do this, though. To be honest, I didn't have much of a choice. I didn't know what I'd do without Angelina. Except now I didn't know what I was going to do. I was afraid to open the door.

And then, I had an idea. I got up off the floor and ran to my bookcase, pulling off the book of poems I had been reading from a few days before. I remembered reading one from Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and I think it fit the situation perfectly. Hastily, I flipped to the page of the poem I'd been thinking of and skimmed it quickly: yes, it was perfect. I took a deep breath and walked back to sit outside the door to my room.

I cleared my throat.

"There's one sad truth in life I've found," I started softly, "while journeying east and west." I heard my bed creak; it sounded like she was getting up. My heart fluttered, but I continued. "The only folks we really wound are those we love the best." She took a step towards the door. At least, it sounded like it. I hope she did.

"We flatter those we scarcely know, we please the fleeting guest, and deal full many a thoughtless blow..." I trailed off, staring at the last line that was staring me in the face, and I realized the magnitude of what I'd done. I'd _hurt _her. I couldn't think of a worse thing I could have done to Angelina.

"To those who love us best." As I finished the poem, I closed the book slowly and set it on the ground next to me. I paused; I expected her to fling the door open and smother me with kisses, forgiving me for my misdeed instantly. Because that's just the sort of cocky bloke I sometimes act like. Alright, so maybe I didn't _expect_ Angelina to do that, but I certainly hoped. A man can hope, can't he?

The door didn't even open. I sighed before I could stop myself.

And then I had another idea.

* * *

When I got back home from running all over Creation, Angelina was still in my room. I set my bags on the counter and began to unpack them: I arranged the Chinese take-away on some plates and put them on the table. With a flick of my wand, I dimmed the lights and lit a candle on the center of the table. Once again by magic, I poured some sparkling cider into champagne flutes and sent the silverware flying to our places.

I looked at it for a minute. Something was missing.

Flowers. That's it. I conjured up a single rose, a red rose. Then, of course, I had to remove the thorns so she didn't accidentally stab herself. I set it on the counter while I unpacked my last bag. I slipped out of the trainers, jeans, and the sweater I'd put on to go out and began to put on the pants in the bag. Pants, shirt, jacket, cummerbund, and finally the shoes. Looking in the hall mirror, I adjusted my collar and attempted to flatten my hair, which was sticking up at all sorts of odd angles from sleeping on it funny. It refused to lie down, so I just gave up.

I sucked in a deep breath and knocked on my bedroom door. Angelina flung the door open and looked at me skeptically, but then her gaze softened when she noticed the tuxedo. She was wearing my clothes: a pair of my boxers and the old Quidditch shirt from a few days ago. I blinked and didn't say anything. Once again, she had rendered me speechless. It didn't seem to take much these days.

I regained my composure and held out my hand. She took it, and I bent down to press my lips to the back of her hand. I looked up and saw her smiling. Maybe, just maybe, blushing a little.

I've always wanted to be the man to make her blush.

**

* * *

Please stick with me! I know it's been a long time, but I finally finished all those projects I was talking about! Pleaseeee review! Love, Miranda :)**


End file.
